The Judge Put A Stop Order Between My Cores And The Saw

Ruth called Split Spur before we left the parking lot.

She used the speaker so June and I could hear. A man answered over a high, steady whine.

"We have an ownership dispute involving seven core boxes," Ruth said. "Please preserve them and suspend any cutting or copying."

"We've got a preparation order for Thursday. Who are you with?"

She gave her name and asked for his email.

"Our customer will have to approve a hold," he said.

"You'll receive the agreement and a formal notice within the hour."

He would not tell us whether any stone had already been cut.

That night, Ruth prepared a complaint in Natrona County District Court. I paid a further $4,500 toward the court work. She explained each request before I signed my sworn statement.

We asked for return of my property, damages for breach of the loan, and an order against further movement, cutting, or copying while the court decided the case.

"The judge needs a reason to act quickly," she said.

"Once a core goes through a saw, you can't put it back."

"Exactly. Say what you know. Leave out what you fear but can't prove."

My statement described the agreement, the inventory, and the freight receipt. Ruth attached each one.

She notified Copper Wren's lawyer of the next morning's hearing. Split Spur received the filing too. The company could explain its position in court.

I slept on my couch with the lamp on. At five, I woke with my teeth pressed together.

By nine, I was sitting behind Ruth at counsel table. The room smelled of paper and wool coats. Everett sat across the aisle with a lawyer I had never met.

He nodded as if we had run into each other at lunch.

"Lourdes," he said. "This could still be friendly."

Ruth set a hand on my sleeve. I kept quiet.

Copper Wren's lawyer said the company had spent years storing and protecting the collection. He called the missing cores a temporary off-site study set.

Judge Marian Crowe looked down at the agreement.

"Where is the written permission for the move?"

"We haven't located it yet."

"Does your client contend it exists?"

The lawyer spoke to Everett, then faced the bench.

"My client believed prior practice allowed routine testing."

Ruth stood.

"The loan permits inspection in place. Sampling requires a separate signed approval. Moving the collection requires one too. We have asked for both. Neither has been produced."

The judge asked me about Dad's records. I took the oath and explained his numbering system.

"Could those missing boxes have been company property?" she asked.

"Their numbers appear on his delivery schedule. The freight weight fits seven full core boxes. June Heller found replacement stone under four of those numbers."

"Did you authorize any substitution?"

"No."

Everett watched my hands instead of my face.

The judge granted a short temporary restraining order and set a full hearing for the following week. She required a $2,500 bond, which Ruth had warned me to have ready.

The order barred Copper Wren and those acting for it from moving, altering, testing, or copying the disputed material. It required preservation of the related records. It did not yet decide the whole case.

Ruth sent the signed order to Split Spur and arranged prompt service.

At the courthouse steps, Anika called.

"Their manager just confirmed a hold," she said. "No saw work started. The boxes are sealed in a separate room."

I sat on the cold stone wall by the steps.

For the first time since Monday, I could breathe all the way in.

"How did you hear?"

"He called our legal team. They had asked him to preserve anything tied to the sale review."

Ruth sat beside me. "That's one door closed. Now we find out who opened it."

June's report came that afternoon with the freight receipt attached. Tom also supplied the purchase order that had paid the carrier's $940 charge.

The company had paid the freight, but the account listed as Split Spur's customer was Sloane Range Holdings.

"Is that his?" I asked.

"We'll request the records," Ruth said. "A name alone isn't enough."

Everett's lawyer called before supper with a proposal. Copper Wren would return all seven boxes and pay me $25,000 if I withdrew the case and granted a permanent digital license.

"No independent review of the shipment," Ruth read. "No admission. Broad release."

"Tell them to keep the cores safe. We can discuss money after the records arrive."

Near midnight, Tom sent Ruth a scanned work order he had found in the loading desk.

It covered four replacement labels, approved September nineteenth.

Everett's handwritten note said: Use spare stone. Keep the shelf count whole.